Exhausted
by TeenTypist
Summary: "I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations." A series of one-shots, from several characters' view points. Chapter 1: Post-war, Harry is bitter. EWE


_**I'm Exhausted from Living up to Your Expectations**_

_Disclaimer: I own only the plot and make no money from this story; I only garner pleasure by writing it and reading pretty reviews._

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_Harry grimaced. He had thought life would be quiet after the war. Maybe it had just been wishful thinking. He sure as hell deserved a little quiet. He'd done everything that was expected of him, everything that he shouldn't have had to do. Everything that he did as a kid, as a teenager, should not have been his responsibility. Where were the adults in the world who were supposed to take care of these things? He sure as bloody hell wasn't a kid anymore. When had he ever really gotten to feel like a kid?

He hauled his Auror robes on over his shoulders. He had taken the training—the passed him in six months, rather than the usual 3 years. Most of what they taught him was procedure and regulations. He had plenty of practical experience already. He slipped his wand into the holster at his belt, his belt worn over the robes. He didn't spare himself a glance in the mirror. He knew what he'd see—eyes with dark shadows under them, tousled hair that had lost its gleam, and a scar peeking out from under his rebellious hair. That scar would be all the ID he ever needed to carry in the wizarding world.

The bitterness came and went these days. Some days, he knew he was doing the right thing—he had passed his Auror training several months ago and was frequently out of the office, in the field, finding wands pointed at him, or pointing his at someone else. It didn't matter that Voldemort was dead. Wizards who liked to screw up life for other people and took pleasure in other people's pain were always going to exist. There was just no way to get rid of them all. And everyone expected him to handle it.

He Apperated to work, appearing in the crowded arrival station, eyes roving over the crowd as he made his way through to check-in and then head for his office. He expected the latest stack of reports to be there, waiting. The latest stack of names of the depraved, of the ones who needed to be dealt with.

He was taking the stairs, savoring some of the time alone in his own mind, a mixed blessing and torture. Sure, it wasn't like with Voldemort—no one was telling him that these guys were going to specifically come after him, though they might. Some of them had been living quite well under Voldemort's favor. Others simply hated Harry for locking their comrades up. Harry knew he had to get them. If he sat back and did nothing, the youngest "graduate" of Auror training, wizarding world savior, Harry Potter, they'd be aghast. They'd wonder how he could have deserted them in their time of need. Never mind whatever else he'd already done for them. They always wanted more. People had effing high expectations for a 19 year old. What was wrong with them to think he could move the stars for them?

He rested against the last doorway on the stairs before going into the office. He was breathing heavily and he knew it wasn't from the climb. He was angry. He was beyond angry. He was pissed off, and effing tired beyond exhaustion. He'd passed exhaustion a long time ago.

We've got to protect the Sorcerer's Stone. Ginny's been taken by the monster. Sirius Black wants to kill you. Your name came out of the Cup, Harry, you have to participate in this possibly fatal tournament. Blood of thine enemy forcibly taken. I will not tell lies. The image of Sirius taken by Voldemort. You have to make me drink all of this, Harry, don't let me stop no matter what I say. The thoughts swirled, a murky, unhappy mess. He knew there had been points where he could have said no, but what would have happened to everybody who couldn't or wouldn't take care of themselves if he did? He'd done everything they expected of him. Everything they dreamed an infant whom Voldemort's killing curse had rebounded off of could do as a man…they expected of him when he was still a child. When was the last time he had effing felt like a child? He was still a teenager and all of these people and their demands, their hopes. They needed some other effing savior. He couldn't do this anymore. He could never do this…but he'd done it.

He swung open the door to the main office. There were several secretaries, sitting at their desks. A few Aurors milled around the room. His boss was in the training area he was sure, terrifying the new recruits. He went to his desk, a little office with more wall than a cubicle, but no proper door. He took off his belt, and slipped his Auror robes off his shoulders, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He stuffed the few personal possessions he'd had at his desk in his pockets and came back out to the main office. He didn't look at anyone in particular. He made his voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room, but it was still quiet, tinted with exhaustion and anger. "I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations." He started for the door.

"Potter, where are you going?"

He didn't answer.

"You can't just walk out of here."

He turned a level look at the speaker. Another effing expectation. They thought that he couldn't walk out of here, that he wouldn't walk out of here, that he had to stay and save them from Merlin knew what might come next. Too bad. He kept walking towards the door; his hand on the handle of his wand; his belt with the sheath casually over one arm.

"What will we tell the Minister? The head of the department? _The Prophet_?"

Harry glared at the speaker, one of the secretaries, a woman in her late thirties or early forties. Probably around how old his mum would be now. She was old enough to have lived through both wars. "You tell them what I told you. I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations." With that, he left, quiet fury boiling in every cell in his body. He'd had it, this was it.

It was a solid five minutes before anyone in that office spoke. "Do you think he'll be back?"

"I understand he's flown off the handle before…"

"He probably needs a few days off. He'll be back on Monday."

One person was peering not at the door Harry had exited, but at his office. She saw the robes on his floor, a crumpled heap. "I don't think he's coming back." She was new here. She hadn't finished her training yet, but she had known Harry for a long while, if not particularly well.

The Minister entered the office, accompanied by the Head Auror. "What's going on?" the Minister asked. Silence was not something commonly found in this office unless there had been a death.

"Repeat yourself, Brown," the Head Auror ordered, perhaps more gently than he might normally have. He could read the scene better than the Minister; these were his people. Brown was unusually quiet and calm looking. Finnegan looked nervous, as though recalling a painfully guilty memory. The older Aurors looked more stunned. The young ones had gone to Hogwarts with Potter. To the older ones, the boy wasn't quite real; a fantasy, the default answer to an impossible problem.

Lavender repeated herself, "Harry's left. I don't think he's coming back."

Her boss nodded. "I'd imagine not. The rest of you, get back to work."

Lavender quietly walked into the office once conversation had started to resume, mostly in low mutters. She picked up Harry's robes, smoothed them, and draped them over the back of her chair. She was sure that when she turned around, there would already be memos flying from the office, and owls flying out the windows.

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**Author's Note:** Like _Trust Me_ which I published a few weeks ago, this is a little darker than my usual work. I'm thinking about creating a separate account for my darker work. Watching Labyrinth this weekend (can anyone picture Draco Malfoy as David Bowie, or is it just me?), I was really struck by some of the lines at the end of the movie. Originally I was intending to write a one-shot story with Draco and Hermione by this same title. Hermione and Draco is going to take more time to develop and will be it's own, chaptered story. This story is going to be a series of one-shots in which some of our favorite and least favorite heroes confront the people that probably don't even know they're hurting them-"I'm Exhausted from living up to your expectations" is essentially going to be the theme throughout, and I have about half a dozen chapters planning themselves sketchily in my mind.

Again, I'm new at writing darker themed things and would appreciate whatever feedback you're willing to give to guide me (review, please...). I'm not entirely sure if this chapter is DH compliant (minus epilogue) or not. I couldn't decide on who to make the head Auror, so I've left him as a mystery, to be filled in by whomever you deem worthy of the post.


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